


One More Time

by Kali588



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Budapest, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mission Fic, Strike Team Delta, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8488648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kali588/pseuds/Kali588
Summary: Strike Team: Delta is going back to the place they never thought they would return - Budapest.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentsofpuppies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentsofpuppies/gifts).



> Scream at me on Tumblr at itsnotokbutwereallright or submit your own prompt!

They had fought their way across the United States, left a trail of blood in South America, carved a path of destruction in Asia, cut a swath through Europe. Their names were whispered, with disgust, with fear; the kind of whispering saved for bogeymen. They had battled the world for each other, and had, regrettably, battled each other to save the world. With such an extensive history, it was easy for missions to feel routine or even boring. 

Natasha had a feeling this would not be one of them. 

Clint’s eyebrows twitched in the way that meant he was displeased when the assignment was handed out. She had rolled her shoulders in acknowledgement and agreement. When they made it back to quarters, Clint had slapped the dossier on the kitchen counter. Jerked open the fridge door, yanked out a beer, and let the door slam as he twisted off the top and took a deep swallow. She watched it all, coolly waiting. 

Clint took another deep drink, then let himself fall back against the refrigerator door, his head hitting last. “I didn't think we'd ever have to go back,” he sighed. 

Natasha walked over and stole the bottle, draining it, then leaned against the counter across from him. Finally, she admitted, “I didn't either.” They stood like that for another minute, then Clint straightened and took her hand. They squeezed lightly and released, each moving to complete the necessary tasks before wheels up the next morning. 

Natasha didn't bother with the pretense of leaving Clint's apartment. The people that mattered already knew, and the rest were too afraid to say anything. She couldn't escape the dread sitting in her chest, so heavy she could barely breathe around it. Clint knew how to quash the feeling; at least, enough for them to sleep. They would need all of their wits about them when they returned to Budapest.

The next morning, they rose early and grabbed their go bags. Clint had the largest Yeti cup Natasha had been able to find, filled to the brim with coffee and emblazoned with his signature purple arrow. Natasha had a simple mug of tea. The cafeteria wasn't open yet, so each grabbed a piece of fruit and a carton of yogurt and headed to the hangar to catch their plane. The handler for the mission was an Agent Samuels - the latest in what Hill had implied was a line of commanding officers rapidly becoming too long. In typical fashion, they ignored him as they boarded and stashed their gear. 

Clint, per normal, dropped himself into a chair and fell asleep. Natasha pretended to do the same. She could hear Samuels sigh when he came onto the plane, then situated himself several rows down; Natasha heard the tell tale paper shuffling as he spread out his files. Eyes remaining closed, she reviewed the dossier mentally, several times. She did eventually fall into a half awake, half asleep state. Natasha fell into the awake side fully when Clint stretched and cracked his back.  With a twitch of his left hand, he told Natasha,  _ landing soon.  _

A tap of her right index finger said to him,  _ Ready to go.  _

They stood simultaneously and moved to where Samuels had fallen asleep in his own seat. Clint cleared his throat, and the older agent jumped in his seat. Seeing the two assassins calmly watching him had his face dropping into a scowl. “We're about twenty minutes out,” Clint told him. 

Natasha was not amused when Samuels radioed the pilot to confirm timing, though she smirked when the response came back with a loud and clear confirmation of Clint’s estimation. Samuels managed to look more displeased. “Sit,” he bit off. Barely a glance passed between the couple before they complied. “Your mission is to terminate the target, Antony Yeltsin. He's taken control of the city's underground, and is rumored to be shuttling nuclear components to Iran. There's been no official confirmation of Russian involvement, but we need to be careful. Quick and quiet.” He tapped a small stack of photographs. “These are his top five players. They also need to be gotten rid of, to be sure that operations can't continue.” He resisted the urge to pull at the collar of his white shirt, or loosen his tie. Delta hardly ever talked. Just stared at him, blankly. He assumed they understood, since they were supposed to be the best, but he couldn't be sure. 

The Black Widow tilted her head and Hawkeye scratched his arm, and Samuels tried not to sweat. He hadn't been able to figure out their code; no one had. They could have suggested ways to kill him and dump the body, or said they were hungry. Or, hell, it could be a coincidence. He swallowed, hard, when the Widow moved a slim hand toward him, and the tilt of Hawkeye’s mouth let him know that he'd been caught in his fear. Natasha simply plucked the photographs from the table, flipped through them once, then handed them to Clint. Clint did the same, then tossed them on the table. 

As one, Strike Team: Delta stood up and moved to the back of the plane to gather their gear and get ready for the drop. Clint tossed over his shoulder, “See you on the other side. Boss.” Samuels didn't appreciate the sentiment, but he didn't have a chance to respond. They were already gone. 

After they had landed, cut and disposed of their chutes, Natasha allowed the facade to fall. She scowled at Clint. “Jumping was a little excessive. We could have waited until they landed at the airfield.”

Clint scanned the horizon as they walked. “Trying to stay unpredictable, Tasha. I'm not willing to walk into a trap.”

She huffed at him. “For the first time ever.”

That had his lips curving. “Pot, kettle.” It earned him a smack on the arm that (mostly) didn't hurt. 

They made it to the safe house without incident. They hadn't wanted to come back here, so hadn’t bothered finding their own and had to use the SHIELD hidey-hole. At least it was properly outfitted. Black ops couldn't exactly go on a grocery run. 

Clint used the first few days to set up surveillance, while Natasha did some digging into their target to make sure they had all the information. She had to use contacts that she hadn't spoken to in years, and it was slow going. The side jobs she'd taken over that time period had kept her reputation mostly intact, but she still had to break a few bones. And there'd been one small gunshot wound. Natasha didn't believe in regret, but she hadn't wanted to shoot the bravado out of the young man. When he hadn't complied, instead trying to intimidate a young woman in the bad part of the city, a bullet graze of his bicep had bought her more information than she'd expected. Even still, it wasn't enough. 

Natasha didn't slam the door. Door slamming was an indication of lack of control. Not to mention it brought attention; the noise could be enough to cause distraction from whatever a person was doing that had them minding their own business. The stiffness of her posture relayed her annoyance to Clint, who was on the computer. He shut the top and set it beside him on the couch. “What's up?”

She rolled her head on her neck. “Everything SHIELD gave us checked out.”

He waited a few moments. When she didn't continue, he looked at her, puzzled. “Is that a bad thing?”

Natasha sighed and sat heavily on his lap, smirking at the  _ oof _ he let out. “I keep feeling like I'm missing something. Everything is too neat, too easy. I don't like it.”

Clint tugged her into his chest and hugged. “Maybe you're just getting paranoid in your old age,” he teased. She elbowed him sharply in the ribs, making him laugh and hold her tighter. He gave her a smacking kiss. “We'll move on the targets tomorrow. Then we can get the hell out of here.”

“Okay. Let's go over the plan.” She shifted off his lap, and Clint nabbed the laptop, opening it and beginning to outline the steps to fulfill their mission.  They'd agreed it would be best to take out their targets close to the warehouse caches the group controlled. Clint marked off the perimeter and best access points, along with his anticipated vantage points. SHIELD had provided camera points and a guard schedule. Clint had confirmed the schedule and timed the perimeter walk during his surveillance. Natasha had been able to confirm the location of the primary storage, and that the six would be present tomorrow. 

She still had the itch between her shoulder blades when they were finished, but Clint noticed and did his best to distract her. They fell asleep, tangled together, and slept dreamless. 

The couple rose early the next morning and suited up. They used the burn bin as much as possible, trying to leave minimal evidence of their stay. Each had their gear bag, and civilian clothes over their tac suits. Clint lead the way and Natasha watched their six. When they were at the outskirts of the industrial area, the outer clothes were stripped off, additional weapons placed, and gear bags stashed. Natasha's com unit was tested to be sure Clint's hearing aid/com received the signal properly. She tapped her left arm three times ( _ I love you _ ) and he did the same. Clint headed towards his vantage point, and Natasha to her ground entry. 

The guards were nowhere to be seen. Natasha slipped quietly between the buildings, vehicles, various shipping containers, and debris as she moved closer to the main warehouse. When she was in position, Natasha hit the button on the side of her com that sent one beep to Clint. She received a beep in response about thirty seconds later. Only one guard on the door. Natasha heard Clint take a small inhale as he lined up his shot, then she heard the twang of a bowstring being released and the whoosh of the arrow, in time with his exhale. The guard went down. 

Clint was covering Natasha while she moved to the keypad access and used a small device to manipulate the code. The lock clicked and Natasha’s com let out feedback in her ear at the same instant. Gritting her teeth, she yanked it out to turn it off and back on before she breached the building. Natasha reached up to put it back into place, when the bullet slammed into her shoulder from behind. The com dropped to the ground as she focused through the pain on finding cover. Shots rang out as she grimly realized they were herding her away from what she'd thought was Clint's vantage point. 

A sudden explosion from the direction of the shooter (or shooters) reassured her that Clint wasn't out of the equation yet. Natasha knew what one of his exploding arrows was like. She lurched away from where the attacker was aiming her towards, trying to apply at least some pressure to the shoulder wound. She ducked through the labyrinth of debris and then collapsed behind a shipping container. Natasha pulled a gun out of its holster and set it beside her, then tried to evaluate. The sound of feet on the metal container had her grabbing and aiming the gun, training kicking in to stop the shaking. 

Clint dropped down and she lowered her weapon. He cursed as he glanced over her, then fell to his knees beside her. Gently examining the shoulder, though she still had to bite the inside of her cheek until it bled to keep from crying out. “It's a through and through,” she gasped at him. 

“We need to get out of here,” was his response. She blew out a breath and nodded. He pushed the button on his com to open the line to their handler. “Samuels, Hawkeye. Mission aborted. Medvac needed for Black Widow, shoulder through and through. Copy?”

“Negative, Hawkeye. Complete mission.”

Clint snarled. “What part of medvac do you not understand?”

“Widow can still shoot and you're uninjured. Complete mission, medvac will be directed to the pickup point.”

Clint cursed as he ended the transmission. Natasha had kept her hand on her gun, but even the Black Widow felt the pain of a gunshot wound. Her eyes were glassy and her breathing more rapid. “Tasha, they're not coming for us. Samuels wants mission completion.”

Natasha blew out a shaky breath, inhaled deeply. The next exhale was smoother. He could see her putting herself into the box and letting her training take over. The Red Room would have expected the same of her as Samuels,  _ and _ she would have been punished for requesting an evac. She may have escaped their control all those years ago, but Natasha knew that there were occasions that SHIELD took advantage of what the Red Room had done to her. She had expected it, even, especially when Clint first brought her in. Oh, he hated it, but Natasha knew of at least twice that pulling out this part of herself had saved his life. She could live with the additional dents on her soul if it helped someone else.

By the fourth exhale, her breathing was even and her eyes back to normal, if not a little distant. Clint tried to not look worried. This version of her had little patience with emotion. She nodded curtly and allowed Clint to pull her to her feet. “We'll need to find a car,” Clint began before he was cut off by the sound of gunfire. 

“Time to move,” Natasha ground out before taking off at a slight jog, staying in the shadows of cover. Clint followed behind as the sounds of the search moved towards them. A sudden shout had him pausing to turn and fire an arrow before picking up the pace. He caught up to her just when the gunfire started again. Natasha increased her speed and varied her running pattern, Clint still following. By this time, they were exiting the warehouse areas and entering into the poorer residential section. While the cover was less, it would provide the best opportunity to steal a car. They both sighted a good option - a mid 90s car, easy to hot wire, that was small and fast. 

Clint yanked open the driver's door, while Natasha went to the passenger side. He unsheathed a knife, prying the panel open and stripping the wires. Natasha provided cover. While she couldn't hold her preferred two handed stance, her aim and timing made up for having only one weapon. The engine caught as she fired her last round. Diving into the car and slamming their doors, they peeled off while the goons yelled after them. 

Once they were clear, Clint slowed slightly. Natasha had reloaded, but was now applying pressure to her shoulder again, gun holstered. “We can't go to the extraction point,” she murmured, eyes closed. 

“Why the hell not? You need medical!”

“Mission parameters have not been met. Extraction will not be granted.”

“Tasha, this is SHIELD, not the Red Room. They'll take us home and send someone else.” Clint gripped the steering wheel, white knuckles belaying his frustration. When she didn't respond, he glanced over and saw she was unconscious. “Fuck!” He pulled to the side of the road. “Natasha! Wake up!” When she didn't respond, he cursed again. They were practically downtown, though the early morning hour meant that hopefully few people would see them. He tried to rouse her again, shaking her. When she still didn't move, Clint put the car back into gear and continued the direction they'd been heading, this time more urgently. 

He hadn't gone more than a block when he saw the black SUVs coming up fast behind him. The first few bullets missed, but someone got lucky and managed to shoot out the rear windshield. Natasha woke, managing not to scream from the pain in her shoulder. She tried to move to aim and return fire, but it was no use. “We're going to have to find shelter and pick them off!” Clint nodded his agreement. 

“Hang on!” He jerked the wheel, sending them down a narrow side street. He did this a number of times, finally finding an alley next to a storefront. Clint parked, quickly exiting and coming around to help Natasha. They had made it to the door of the shop when three SUVs pulled into the street opposite and the occupants opened fire. Clint turned and fired his arrows, while Natasha shot the door near the lock to get them inside. She rushed inside, and Clint followed, walking backwards. The last step, he stumbled across the threshold and dropped his bow, then slammed the door. 

Thankfully, it was an antiques shop, and they were able to shove a large armoire from where it had been set nearby. After the furniture was in place, Clint sat down heavily, and then fell to lay on the floor. That was when Natasha realized a bullet had hit him in the stomach. “Ты идиот,” she snapped at him. Angry shouting could be heard outside. 

“Don't worry so much, Tasha, I'll be fine.”

She put her hands on the wound and pressed, but it was ineffective with her shoulder, and they both knew it. Clint reached up and tapped his com. “Emergency extraction needed. Delta is compromised. Unknown coordinates.”

In his ear, Samuels let out an angry curse, then responded, “Tracking enabled. Hold on, Hawkeye.” After a tense thirty seconds of silence, Clint heard, “Found you. ETA ten minutes.” 

“Roger.” He clicked off, despite the request to keep the line open. “Ten minutes, Nat. Call me an idiot again.”

Natasha leaned down and kissed him gently. “No. It only encourages you.” Gunfire started from outside again, the armoire shuddering as the door it was blockading started to disappear under the hail of bullets. “Come on, Clint, we've got to move.”

Both groaning, they managed to move themselves to the rear of the shop. Hiding behind the counter, they panted from the exertion. They sat, sides touching, leaned against the back wall. “I'm tired, Clint.”

  
“Me too, Tasha, me too.” They turned their heads, foreheads touching, Clint lightly tracing her cheek with his thumb. He tilted his chin, and their lips met. They had only a moment, suspended in time, to express the depth of their feelings. Love was for children. They were each other's everything; two halves made whole. As the armoire crashed to the ground, Clint and Natasha finished their kiss and readied their weapons, one more time. 


End file.
